This resonated with me all week, in light of our barn collapsing, which makes the property look decidedly less ‘Green-natural’ and more ‘trash-heap’ until it gets cleared up. In true microcosm/macrocosm fashion, this just keeps reminding me what a mess we’ve made of things, and how nice it used to, and will look again.

I helped create the BP oil spill after all, by continued use of petro-commercialism, as Anne said recently. I also helped set aside a patch of yard to be tended respectfully and minimally, and am looking into composting toilets and rainwater collection barrels. Each of us has potential for Change, both good and bad.

So, it seems this moon cycle is one where I find myself musing upon Pan more often than not. Pan in his many facets of untouched wilderness, his voice of Panic, and his [pro]creative drive.

Strangely, I have never been one to ascribe to any particular Pagan-themed diety in this manner. After a solid Lutheran upbringing, with appropriate Christians-tinted faiths, my own Pagan path has tended more towards generic elementalism, pantheism, and non-specified Druidic leanings. (Plenty of explanation of my spirituality on this blog’s archives.)

I had a brief stint of Faerie-slant which still sticks with me a bit. But the Gentle Folk are no gods. Otherwise, I’ve generally paid mere lip-service to other cultures’ Deities in acknowledging their existence on some level, but never joining their ranks. I liken this to knowing the Governor of Minnesota exists, but living in New York, if that makes sense. Yet everywhere I’m looking lately, I see horns. My own facebook page photo, for example, then wearing those self-same horns for fun while working outside last week “to be silly”. Looking back, are those silly head-decorations becoming something totemic? I don’t think so, but still, I’ve had them for years and never worn them much before now.

I even found my penny-whistle while cleaning up our closet on Thursday, and enjoyed waking some sleepy half-memories in my muscles by trilling a few songs out off my fingers. It’s no pan-pipe obviously, but the symbolism is surprisingly apparent when seen in retrospect, as they weren’t done with Pan in mind at the time. It’s interesting.

Did any of you readers with a more personalized relation with a particular Higher Power approach things in a similar manner, or were you off searching for a name specifically? Or, I suppose in other words, did you find your connections, or did They find you?

I also wonder if I’m just reaching for synchronisms that aren’t there. A bit of spiritual Apophinia, perhaps?

I also wonder if the webmistress of “The Gods are Bored”, or a Druid’s Apprentice, could get me a proper interview with Pan? *chuckle*

So, while I’m musing on all things goat-boyish, here’s two songs to entertain you. I just re-listened to them at work, which brought me merrily through that afternoon doldrum that hits around 1:30.

Enjoy. (and thanks to Nettle for sharing the songs initially with me recently!)

http://www.youtube.com/v/uxCPkg_Ee3Q

http://www.youtube.com/v/hztAzxNdL8c

However, I had dreamed about this patch twice now in the past week.   The first, was the night I was trying to find a good location for a small Faerie Garden, or place to build a small Faerie-house.   In that dream, I was a rabbity creature caught in the thorns nearby and eventually settled into that spot to rest and recover, before hopping “home”.   The second time was last night, after a meditation on the Gulf Oil Disaster and lighting a candle to honor those beings who will lose/have lost their lives already for our greed.

In that second dream, I was not not there physically.  I merely watched, an invisible witness, as that patch of land grew from bare soil, filled with clover and sorrell and yellow dock, then got choked out by Motherwort, and eventually became an impossible full forest of minitature trees, with tiny fae-homes like the Ewok’s Village, or Lothlorien.

Thus inspired, I am in the process of trimming the thorns, slightly, but otherwise going to leave this parcel of dirt untouched.  It will be cleaned up of any litter and trash over the next week or two. (There’s a few bits of garbage from ancient farm-days in the crevices between the rocks. Rusty nails, broken glass and the like.  Not much, but some.  Folks from rural properties know the sort of thing I mean here, probably.)

After a sort of purification of the place, it will be allowed to grow and florish, as Nature deems suitable.   In times of extreme drought, I will spray it with the hose lightly, if we need to hose for our garden-proper.   If random winds blow refuse into it (roadside trash is an ever-present problem on our backwater street), it will be removed.    Otherwise, I promised the land it would be Wilderness.

To passers-by, no one will notice it.  Just another rough patch behind an old house.  I doubt I’ll feel called to decorate it with baubles and fae-toys (but am leaving the possibility open)  For now, it will be sanctified.

I’d still like to find the perfect spot to create my own “Shrine of the Mists“, with a different name.  Something formal, and such.  But I’m feeling kinda awesome about seeming asked by our land to “Leave this alone, and Love it”.

I’ll have pictures once it’s cleaned up properly, and walked away from on the New Moon.

I have a deep-rooted Dread (yes, with a capital D) regarding society today that I have tried to keep under wraps and dismissed as over-dramatic conspiracy-theory-ish folly.  Then again, I also think that dismissing such things is what got us to this point to begin with.   Thus, the unbalanced mood lately, and inability to focus on the details of things.

Recently, however, I found myself feeling altogether different about the whole topic of the Deepwater Oil disaster.

I was sitting outside last night, trying to visualize my opening ‘circle’ and was struck by a profoundly angry sky.  Physically, it was overcast and warm; a wonderful summery evening to sit outside.

Metaphorically (Etherically? Astrally?  Mentally?  I’m not really shamanic in my practices), it was an oppressive weight crushing me to the grass.   I cried.  Real little-kid-upset tears, at being berated so sternly by the Sky.  I was an ant, helpless and afraid, and scraping my meager scraps of glucose from the blades of grass and gathering dew while dreaming of building a fortress in the sandbox.   It hurt my heart, and cut my spirit.   The oil, it flows, and there’s nothing I could do about it, except be blamed for everything I did to cause it.  I was at fault.  Knowing even a single human being, made it my fault.

Honestly, it was scary as all heck, and something I’d prefer not to repeat again.  If that’s shamanic work, I’m not wont to continue it.  Yet, I think I should.

I should, because after being left feeling raped and shattered, I picked up the shards of Me and went back inside to get a drink of orange juice.  I needed something cold and soothing.   I began to feel Lighter then, and a strange sort of hopeful and bittersweet about the whole situation.

Like lancing a boil to drain the fluid before it infects the surrounding tissue, I felt relief, but not closure.

I’m left today at work with a sense that while there is nothing I can immediately do to affect the oil spill, I should continue to apply energies to the healing of the land.  It’s nature responding to humanity’s greed, and rather than fight upstream against the flow, I need to merely turn into the current and help steer away from the rocks below.

It sounds totally depressing to try typing into words, but I can’t help but feel better that it happened somehow.  Fish will die, coastlines will need cleaning, and a terrible tragedy has been unleashed.  I do not deny this.   I feel bad not feeling worse that it happened, though.

The cynic in me thinks maybe this waste of oil will speed along the endgame, so that it’s not quite as deep a trough we are sliding into? The optimist in me feels conflicted with the caring/feeling person in me that maybe lots of stuff dying will help more stuff stay alive?   (Hiroshima stopped the war, after all)

I’m not sure what I think.   It is almost a sort of Ennui, but more cynical, and resigned at Fate.

But I think a bit differently today than I have been.

Bear with things… it’s a weird river I’m rolling on…

I still vividly recall when I was much younger, we were standing on the beach watching the countdown to Challenger, which had aboard it a schoolteacher.   I was inspired, I was in awe, and I was quivering in anticipation.   That tingly-feeling I talk about now from time to time to describe a deeply religious experience.   Awe-some.

Sadly, when we were visiting Florida so long ago, the launch got delayed and I had to return home to the northeast.  Doubly-sadly, that very next attempt had infamously bad results, and all aboard were lost in a fiery explosion.  I’m almost glad I wasn’t there…

Still, I watched the launch today, sharing Virtually the experience that my parents were living Live, and still felt the catch in my breath, the profound piloerection (goose bumps), and the empowering Awe of a great event.   It brought me back to my teenage years, and beyond, when the world was somehow less complicated, and the innocent optimism of youth was not quite as jaded as my adult mind is now.

I had even more words to say, about how even amidst our problems, and the cynical response to “wasting” such resources in today’s downward-spiraling economy… but I think Will Wheaton says it best:

We humans are a flawed species, to put it mildly, and I think we could do a much better job taking care of our planet and each other … but when I see what we’re capable of doing, it gives me hope that the future I pretended to live in twenty years ago will actually arrive some day.

http://wilwheaton.typepad.com/wwdnbackup/2010/05/some-of-us-are-looking-at-the-stars.html

This feeling I have today is probably,  (well, most definitely) a result of a workshop I attended this weekend, with Andrew Steed, Kat, Mary, David, Dorita, Molly, Mary, Carly(sp?), Vinny, Aylish, etc, and a myriad of smiling faces that I can picture in my head but would bore some of you readers who know them not.

I’ll have a de-briefing post about the whole firewalk and such later this week, but today, I’m concentrating on how awesome it is RIGHT NOW.

I woke up, the sun was shining, the birds were singing, and as we staggered downstairs to eat breakfast, that kid of ours remarked “I Love Toast today, SHA!”

So, we sang some silly “YEAH TOAST” song, danced around the table as my wife and I got the butter and cinnamon for it, and had the dog happily confused with our antics.

I got to work, and was asked (only semi-jokingly) by my co-worker what they put in the Kool-Aid(tm) this past weekend, since I was apparently smiling too much, and had quite the spring in my step.    I never knew it was possible to smile too much.

Must be one of those days! 

Often in those self-help books and shows, and within a number of philosophical Spiritual-teachings, I have come across the concept of speaking your voice. Take Action. Stand up for what we believe, and all that. For many (most?) of us, I’m sure that sort of thing sounds great on paper and within a daily assertion, but the actual practice of Speaking Up gets pushed to the sidelines among the day to day chores. We don’t like being on stage, sticking out in a crowd, and such.

I’m no exception, but today I wanted to try a little experiment on voice, and would challenge my readers to try this once today, and let me know any thoughts you have after-wards.

Find a quiet space, like your car, or an empty house while showering, or such, and sing along with a song. In my case, it was in my car with the radio on to a local pop-station. Change channels until you gt a song you like, and vaguely know the words to. If you are in the shower or dusting the shelves at home, run a song through your head as you say the lyrics out loud.

For this challenge, I don’t want you to simply mumble along with it. Take a deep breath, sit/stand up straight, and belt out those notes. Doesn’t matter if your voice is scratchy or sounds like a drowning camel, or even Platinum Album material. No one is around, remember?

Ideally, if you are listening to the radio, you should be loud enough to not actually hear the real singer. Overrun the lyrics in your ears with the ones in your lungs. Yell it if you want, at least one verse, if not a whole song. If you are a bit stressed and can’t think of a song, just stick to sounding a Barbaric Yawp (first part of this video).

I mean really try it, as instructed. I’ll wait…

Then, after you are done, take a little internal assessment of yourself. Do you feel silly? Do you feel guilty or worried about the neighbors? Try to ignore that primary feeling and think again.

I’m guessing that even with any ego-ruled emotions bouncing around in your head, you feel just a bit better than you did before this activity. Perhaps not much, but maybe your shoulders slump a smidgeon less for the moment, or that nagging cough feels a little less nagging this particular minute.

Be honest with yourself.

I will readily admit I don’t consistently set aside time each day for healthy things like meditation or involved spiritual musings. Yet, I wonder how much effect it would have if everyone took 1 minute to just yell or sing each day? To sound our barbaric Yawp, and sing a song of yourself.

Catharsis is underrated.

The past two days I’ve had a variation on the same dream, and last night’s was so absolutely clear and vivid, with very ‘real’ feelings of touch and taste and sound, that I had to write it down.  (Enjoy, Nettle!)  The first night it ended with catching the thief (see below) but last night started over again with almost no changes.   If I were more artistic I actually can recall with almost perfect clarity many of the images in this dream.  Usually I just remember snippets and vague impressiongs.   So since it still feels “important” to me, I’ll write it all down here for you.

Feel free to comment with your interpretations, as always.  Sorry for some more inside-references to Philly stuff and movies that you might not get unless you know me personally in real life.

It starts with myself, my wife, my son, and Nettle living in a small efficiency-style apartment within some large self-contained structure.  Almost “Star-Trek TNG” or similar setting, as far as the feeling of containment.   Outside, the door opened to a hallway of clean stainless steel that was not quite like a hotel without windows.  (Nettle, very like the bathrooms at that Indian buffet in Philly)  All the ‘dorms’ were in a grid around the outside of the hall, with an elevator or connecting hall to another “grid” of living quarters.    I knew without dreaming it that each ‘grid’ of 18-24 homes was named and themed somewhat, though not strictly.  I also knew the map of this place would map out an online MUD setting with real life as the theme of the game.

Our little area was mainly middle age folks, though some college-age and a larger number of not-quite-elderly.  Everyone I saw in the dining area, which looked like a fancy retirement home cafeteria, was wearing casual clothes and vaguely unconcerned with life.  If you’ve seen “Dollhouse” on FOX, think of the Tabula Rasa state, and it’s a decent match.  Our grid also had a big common room behind frostted glass doors in which people could do yoga or dance, etc.  Very austure yet colourful.  Basically like a Yoga retreat center now that I think about it, without the focus on yoga.

At some point near the beginning of the dream, I returned to my room and met Nettle and my wife stating that some ‘newspawn’ who popped into the place (literally, in this ‘game’ new people pop into Life fully grown) and was running around entering any unlocked doors and stealing things.  He had last gone [west] towards the University (another adjoining Grid of living spaces populated more by smart, attractive,  politically/business motivated young leader-types).

I moved through the rooms+halls quickly and caught sight of the unkept and ragged young man as he ducked into a traditional college dorm-room.  We entered and I grabbed his arm as the occupant of the room pinned him down.  We then found ourselves in the ‘principal’s office’ where a smartly dressed lady in a power-suit advised the thief that his next character should read the manual more carefully.  Nothing wrong with stealing, as it’s in the game mechanics, but he would do better playing nicely at first.

The, I was able to walk around the University area helping return a pile of small trinkets and wierd code-objects we picked off the thief, who was left in the principal’s office to be ‘educated’.  All this was more behind the scenes and had a vague sense of spookiness with an over-militarized sub-text.   No ill-feelings or sense of this group being enemies or opposed to my own Grid, just an awareness that different areas had different mini-cultures and I really didn’t fit in here.

I was suddenly back ‘home‘ and found my rommates gone to dinner, which happened to suddenly be the same common-room as my home-grid, but now hugely expansive and open  like a food court and having many little sections with different trees or seating areas with various little touches of decor.

I didn’t see them, but did step up to a large table of middle age folks chatting over tea and trading sewing tips or photos of their trips.  They had the casual air of my home-grid, but were unfamiliar faces.  On the pillar next to the table was a fancy wall-hanging consisting of a chuck of driftwood with a few silk flowers and ribbons on it.  Nothing too fancy, but a step above the type of paintings in a hotel lobby.  

I felt myself drawn to the chuck of wood, thinking it was the wrong shape and missing a peice that had broken off where a knot was, so I traced my fingers across it and did some kind of mindless and quite natural twiddling of my finger, and re-shaped the wood to look more correct.  Nothing major, in my mind.  

Yet suddenly, one of the occupants of the table seemed quite agitated and called a nurse over to help her out.  The table, and myself, was now back in a more sterilized nursing-home-like setting of our Grid, and a kindly assistant pulled me aside and warned me that such displays were quite frowned upon and should be reported to the Captain before any silly rumors start.   I was midly worried to meet the ‘Captainr’, which is the wrong word, but I can’t remember the term used in my dream yet felt like ‘Captain of the ship’.

Then we (me, wife, & Nettle, kid was not there) were back in our ‘home’ and preparing for a big event that evening.  I mentioned my woodshaping ability and was told matter-of-factly that random talents like that were fairly common, but usually not manifested so easily unless I inhereted both genetic mutations.  Most people had to create quite a few characters before they got one like that, and most had more direct-stat real-life applications such as strength, or inltellect, or reduced training costs for skills.  Again, the sense of being a character in an online MUD was there, but not fully formed in my head during the dream. I knew in that strange dream-logic that this was a game, but was also Life, and felt a bit more relaxed knowing it was a dream now and the University and Grid lifestyle were probably archetypes of something.  

 Nettle then had a presentation on stage for her sorority (more a sisterhood of young pagan scholars than a standard college sorority).  She was nervous about speaking in public, and worried that her (Valedictorian?) speech to the assembly would be ignored or some-such.  She magicked herself into a fancy new outfit, and looked stunning. (An evening gown kinda like this but more risque in shimmering electric blue with black belt, deep V-neck and open back, long dark-blonde wavy hair with diamond barettes, high HIGH heels, etc.  )  My wife and I also dressed up in more “business Casual” attire.  Myself, black slacks and a really nice silk or linen shirt with a nicely embellished suede vest.

As we left, my wife and I exchanged a wordless glance to acknowledge we’d support Nettle and I lightly traced a big flowery R in the inside of our home’s doorway.   The wood grain shifted to form the letter, complete with extra vine swirls and “illuminated Capital” frills. Nothing too fancy, but definitely stood out when seen in the correct light.    I felt a bit of worry or axiety for using this Talent so selfishly, without telling the folks in charge, but it was also felt to be “good” in the sense of an act done not in rebellion of rules, but in spite of them.

We then found ourselves at a large dinner-theater style setting, with immensely high ceilings and more ornamental trees arranged throughout the tables.  Each table was more a circle-bench like the booths in a corner of a restaurant, and the stage was in the center of the room, with the tables scattered nicely spaces around the perimiter.

At the first table we passed, my friend Varulv was there, who smiled to me as he sat with a Fraternity group of upwardly mobile friends.  They were all socially engaging people, actors, student government types, and such.  They were all the types of people who were financially successful and socially at-ease.  Simialr to the University Gridsters, but without that sense of Boarding School Overlording from earlier in the dream.   They all were drinking from a huge wash-basin-sized bucket (called a pitcher) of beer or something, using immense twirly straws.  This struck me as the coolest thing ever, to have in the future society, where everyone shared the drink.

Nettle sat with my wife and some random friends our age with a similar vat of beverage.  Ours was more orange yet still vaguely beer-coloured, and as I sat next to my wife and son, tasted like orange juice mixed with something sweeter like mango, and also rather alcoholic.  While I didn’t see any pulp, I got a few course chunks of sweet orange flesh in my mouth, and was enjoying it.  I could literally feel the pulp-bits in my dream, as I popped them in my teeth.  

Nettle smiles and asked if I liked the Splogg (the name of this popular beverage) and I agreed that it was good.   Up on stage, another young woman took the microphone to begin her singing and Nettle appeared slightly more agitated since she was to perform her speech after this song.

The woman was dressed similarly to Nettle though in a shimmering green/gold dress.  And started singing “Calling all Angels“  When she got to the chorus (…and IIII’m…) and more voices joined in from somewhere in the shadows, the magic started.  

Across the room, the table of University boys & girls stood up almost angrily.  Elsewhere, a group of older men in business suits knocked over their bucket of Splogg and stared in furious shock at the stage. Simultaneously, a nearby group of little kids let go of unseen balloons that drifted up and popped on the ceiling showing everyone with pixie-dust glitter.  From behind every tree, in the darkness, fireflies twinkled for a moment and vanished in a ‘pop’ of light.  Myself, I felt that tingling in my fingers and heck-hair-raising electricty of Power being raised.  The small potted bonsai on our table (never noticed that before) flexed and danced as my fingers twiddled of their own accord. 

When the singer was “Calling alllll angelllls“, about twenty people rose out of our seets, standing and smiling at one another beatifically.  Myself and my wife at our table.  Nettle and two other sorority sisters at the neighboring table (how’d she get over there so fast?), and others ranging in age from young 20s to late 90s.  All with Wise eyes and happy smiles.

Energy surged, and the song continued “I won’t give up, if you don’t give up“…. I felt a sense of anticipation that something wonderful was going to happen.

Then my alarm buzzed.    I stumbled up, had to make sure I swallowed the last bits of orange pulp that weren’t really in my mouth, and floated to turn it off.  Literally floated, or so it seemed, half-asleep and only recall my feet hitting the floor when I stopped the BEEPBEEPBEEP of the alarm.  It was 1am.

  ***

So, I’m calling all us Angels out there.   Work your magic.  Even if it’s warping wood or singing fireflies into being, use your Talents.  If the Principal gives you detention,  you won’t be there alone.  If you don’t give up, I won’t give up.  

Last night, on the FOX show “So You Think You Can Dance”, which usually has lots of flashy entertaining routines, my wife and I broke down and cried.  Seriously.

The embedded video starts with a bit of lead-in to one particular routine that I believe gob-smacked everyone in the audience including the judges.  It’s one thing to say that Dance or any Art has the potential to move you, to affect your spirit, and emotions.  It’s another to see such beautiful chemistry in action.

There’s so much thought-provoking muse-worthy stuff bubbling under the surface every time I watch this (8 times now, not close to getting old), but the thing that jumps out at me the most strongly is “Abandon“.

For those suffering from disease or worry, reach out for help.  For those seeking to hide their pain inside to save the world around them, it’s OK to ask for a hug.

It’s ok to leap out across the stage, in total trust that someone will catch you.   To Embrace your power, and Abandon it all must be one of the most powerfully healing things I can imagine.

Watch the video below, and tell me you didn’t blink a few times.  It starts slower, but trust me, watch to the end of the routine.  (You can stop after the dance part if you want, the second half is the judges commentary)

http://www.examiner.com/x-12837-US-Headlines-Examiner~y2009m7d23-So-You-Think-you-Can-Dance-Breast-Cancer-video-with-Kate-Bush-and-Maxwell

Luckily, and thankfully, I never have had to deal personally with the topic of cancer, and may be guilty of glossing over the True Pain that such things bring to someone’s life and loved ones.   Still, that dance hurts to watch, if I think it only scratches the surface of the emotions Cancer brings, but in a strangely cathartic way.   It’s hauntingly beautiful.

I hope you agree.

While at the beach, and even driving home, I’d been thinking a lot about our recent adventures at Drum and Splash, and the related re-boot of my spiritual practice.  While it’s easy to say “work sucks”, it’s settling in my head that the issue is deeper than just disliking my current job due to stress and workload.  It’s a lack of gratification at my job, or something akin to a revulsion of the entire structure of “corporate life”.   It just doesn’t make sense, in a soul-healthy way.

I love the actual work stuff, such as fixing computers for people, and troubleshooting tricky software glitches.  It’s the hoops and red tape that prevent us in certain ways from helping, or resolving root-causes in leu of approved work-around fixes that messes with my happiness.

I don’t get it, beyond “contractual bottom-line-thinking”, these alien processes and thoughts in the name of “customer support”.

It also made me think of something I read recently by Aquila ka Hecate, who was paraphrasing Terence McKenna: “It’s one thing” he said “To change your life to become kinder to your neighbours. It’s entirely another thing to change your life to become incomprehensible to ninety percent of humans.”

It’s as thought I put on a pair of fancy amber-tinted polarized glasses recently.  The greens of the garden, the blue of the sky, and the fog rolling in over the ocean were clearer and more vibrant the longer I look.  Back at home, my workplace was cheery and welcoming, even as my own desk seemed somehow apart from the row of cubicles it belongs to.  Perhaps, because it is Mine, that it stands out in my heart and inner-eye.  Perhaps it’s the little scrying-shell shrine and potted plants that make it slightly less sterile compared to the paper-strewn neighbors.

Whatever the reason, I’m finding it more difficult to talk to my boss about such things as procedures and protocol.  Even this morning, my co-worker and I were called in for 1-on-1 chats to ‘coach’ us on something we need to start doing that will cause us more work for arguably little benefit beyond extra record-keeping and productivity charts.  Both of us feel this new database, a glorified hourly punch-card, serves nothing beyond making sure the two of us share the workload evenly (and other offices do similarly).  I explained my thoughts that if the work is done, and we can’t be trusted to be a team ourselves, what does the manager do? Why create a database that collects information from our workorders that we ALREADY fill out with minutes and time-spent?   The reason,  we are contractors, and our parent company doesn’t use the workorder system we use, so they need an outside method of tracking our time?!?!

Things like that, I just don’t understand.

At the beach, we brought a lot of food to cook ourselves, in order to save money by not eating out each meal.   The grass-fed beef, the garden veggies, and even the store-bought sides were almost tastier than those from the nearby diner (which was also very good).

Lunch, was either burgers or BLT sandwiches.  Sadly, the comment was made about needing to get some more tomatoes from the store, as the ones we brought were irregularly shaped and smallish.  We used them anyway, secretly in the next batch of sandwiches, which were found to be just as yummy and delicious as the other batch. Likewise, the steaks and burgers were tasty Without adding a packet of pre-mixed spices to them before cooking.

Is the world so commercialized that folks can not see beyond the supermarket?

Now that I’ve got my glasses on, and my eyes open,  I fear for the sanity of the wilder world more and more.   No wonder people stand is streetcorners with sandwich-boards proclaiming the End Times.

It’s not ending, but it’s gonna change whether we are ready or not.   I hope there’s enough of us wearing polarized glasses to continue our  party as long as we can, and get our day in the sun.